


Tell Me A Story

by yourpricelessadvice



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 19 y/o Harry, 21 y/o Louis, Boys Kissing, Cute, Drinking, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, No Angst, Sharing Headphones, Storytelling, Surprise Ending, Trains, meeting on a train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:04:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6426817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourpricelessadvice/pseuds/yourpricelessadvice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis takes the train home to Doncaster from Manchester. Enter: Harry Styles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me A Story

**Author's Note:**

> I know Harry isn’t from Grimsby but it was on the route of the train journey I Googled for this story so…
> 
> This whole thing started with a random idea about sharing headphones and evolved backwards and forwards from there. Fluff-fest, sugary, syrupy sweet fluff all round.
> 
> Apart from Stan, Louis, Harry and OFC's, all other characters are mentioned only. Lottie's age is unspecified but she would have to be closer in age to Louis in this story.
> 
> Enjoy!

The train is absolutely bustling, but luckily he manages to find a spare seat on the first carriage he tries. He shuffles along to the window seat, dumping his backpack on the spare seat next to him. The wind that had howled through the crowded Manchester Piccadilly station had chilled him to his very bones, the sleeves of his battered but precious denim jacket not long enough to pull down over his fists.

A few irate looking passengers litter the gangway, nobody daring to make eye contact with anyone. Keen to avoid any wandering stares himself, Louis focuses on digging around in the front pocket of his backpack for his headphones. After a lengthy, tense period of unknotting, he sticks the jack in the top of his phone and resumes his playlist.

He eyes his battery display in the top corner of his phone, 36%; he’s got at least another hour of travelling, and the train hasn’t even left Manchester yet. Acknowledging these dire straits, he turns on power saving mode and dims the screen brightness right down.

It seems the train isn’t quite finished filling up yet. The carriage rocks slightly as the heavy plod of footsteps make their way up and down the aisle. He closes his eyes and tips his head back though it’s thoroughly uncomfortable. Having said that, the weekends antics had totalled in about two and a half hours sleep so he could certainly fall asleep almost anywhere. The pilot, driver, whatever train drivers are called, must have turned on the heating because the vents that run the length of the carriage begin to chuck out heat that burns his calf through his jeans and makes him feel nauseous simultaneously.

The long-awaited chug of the train pulling out of the station jerks Louis back from the brink of sleep. Looking around, he blinks rapidly to adjust to the light. Bodies loom over him and he realises just how busy the train is. Maybe he should move his bag?

The smell of a familiar aftershave that he can’t quite place drifts into his nostrils and his eyes glide over the lanky, black skinny jeans and moth eaten hoodie wearing offender.

Maybe he was staring. He hadn’t meant to stare but suddenly the boy is looking at him and he can’t do anything but freeze and wish the train would disappear into a sinkhole. To make things worse – or better – the boy smiles down at him. It’s a miniscule smile; one might miss it if one wasn’t looking for it. But it’s nice. It makes Louis want to donate to charity or save a stranded cat or something.

“Do you wa-” he goes to say, but then remembers he still has his headphones in. Feeling foolish, he rips them out of his ears and tries again, undeterred despite the slip up. “D’ya wanna sit down?”

The boy looks down, smirking at the bag that sits in the unclaimed seat.

Dutifully, Louis snatches the bag away and motions that the seat is now free.

“Cheers!” The boy sits down and the movement rouses the aftershave scent even more. Louis can’t place it but its so familiar and so endearing. Maybe an old friend used to wear it?

Their arms brush as the boy swings his backpack off his shoulder and rests it on his knee. Louis tries not to bloody stare.

It’s not long before the boy starts drumming fingers on the faded, scuffed material of his dark grey Jansport backpack.

“Nervous?” Louis asks, the boy suddenly splaying out his fingers to calm them. He turns and their eyes meet again and he feels practically fourteen again.

“No, sorry just forgot my headphones. Usually listen to music on busy journeys, helps my... well, don't matter.” He trails off and the scared look that troubles his pretty face says that he thinks he’s said too much.

“You can have the other side of mine? Arctic Monkeys okay?” Louis offers before he can really think. “I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like ‘em.”

“Well, your streak continues.” A smile returns and quickly broadens over the boys’ face as Louis follows his luminous green orbs down to the iron-on Arctic Monkeys patch adorning his backpack.

Louis smiles back and holds the wire up, the left headphone poised.

”Well, thank you very much, kind-man-on-the-train.”

 

~*~

 

Louis isn’t normally one for noticing people’s eye colours, but this boy’s portals shine so brightly they’re almost blinding. His chocolate brown curls sit just short of his shoulders. They sit in relative silence for three songs, Louis feeling the tug on his side of the headphones as the boy nods his head enthusiastically when Teddy Picker comes on.

As they rattle past more unidentifiable countryside blur, Louis sneaks a glance right out of the corner of his eye at the boy. His hands are gathered in his lap, partially blocked by the obtrusive backpack. He watches him stress the skin around his thumb nail, and suddenly he is aware of his own heart hammering against his chest.

They pass by tiny little village stations in a haze, too fast to catch sight of the station names. Soon, they pull into the next stop; Stockport. Even with the beautiful early evening sunshine, Stockport still looks dire. Louis has never liked Stockport.

The handful of passengers they lose at Stockport is doubled by the passengers that get _on_ the train, and the hum of chatter and the coughing and spluttering invades Louis’ conscious more than he wants it to. He tries to focus on what Alex is signing to them. This actually is one of his favourite songs; it feels good to share it with someone else. Someone that actually cares, not like Zayn and his affinity to music only produced by someone with a nonsensical nickname.

He can’t really move too much as he is connected at the ear to this beautiful stranger. They pull out of Stockport Station quicker than they left Manchester Piccadilly. The countryside that whizzes past the grimy window is nothing he hasn’t seen before. He knows the stinging nettles and the discarded litter and rogue dandelions that poke through the gravel between the tracks.

He notches the volume down to 4 and ventures forward with uncharacteristic bravado. "Where’re you headed?"

“Grimsby.” He says simply, and Louis can’t help the expression his face contorts into.

“Grimsby?” He asks with a chuckle. “Lovely. Why?”

“It’s where I live!” The boy sounds offended but his eyes do not paint the same picture.

“Oh, right! Sorry…"

"Well where you off then, Super Traveller?”

"Doncaster. Home."

"What were you doing in Manchester?” He asks, and if Louis had ever been taught about Stranger Danger, he couldn’t care less at this point.

“Visiting me mates,” he says, surprised at how wistful he feels. “Yeah, they’re all at Manchester Uni. Share a flat, proper blokes place, it stinks and there’s always beer and footie and pizza.”

“Why aren’t you there with them?”

“I… I didn’t really have the same opportunities as them.” Louis says and the boy nods, the ear bud falling out of his ear and landing in his lap. They chuckle easily and Louis must admit he’s glad not to be shackled up any more. Now he can look at this boy properly. Freely.

He doesn’t press for more information which Louis is glad about. He doesn’t need his sob stories of money and uni cramping his style any more than he has already done himself, thank you very much.

The gap between Stockport and the next station, Sheffield, is the longest and they make easy small talk almost the entire time. Between them they cover university (or lack thereof for both of them), favourites (foods, colours, TV and music) and laugh about the fact they were both in the crowd of Leeds the previous summer.

The loud, tinny announcement over the Tannoy interrupts them, and they sit with awkward, suspended smiles as the driver finishes his announcement. The train sits in Sheffield Station for a few minutes before trundling five minutes down the track to Meadowhall.

“Shopping?” The boy says with a grin.

“Urgh, no, I hate the place!” Louis thinks back to the times he’d spent traipsing around Meadowhall with his sisters. “I've got a mum and four sisters, I have spent far too much of my life stuck in Meadowhall!”

The boy nods as if he appreciates it. He’d mentioned a sister, so he probably gets it.

The palms of Louis’ hands prickle with heat as he peers over the top of the seats in front of them to see that the carriage is a lot emptier than it was earlier. He quickly identifies this feeling as panic.

“You haven’t told me what you’re doing on the train, anyway.” Louis says as they begin the next leg of their journey. A girl not too far away from them has got on and bombarded his senses with her own fruity perfume, much to Louis’ distaste. It suddenly dawns on him that the next stop is Doncaster. That’s his stop.

“Well, I was in Manchester for my Nan and Granddad’s fiftieth wedding anniversary party.” He begins; his facial features relaxing into a fond, nostalgic beam that Louis finds oh so endearing. “My auntie Julie and Gems – oh my sister, sorry – took me place in the car for the journey home, so I said I’d jump on the train.”

 _I’m glad they did_ , Louis wants to say but maybe that’s too weird. Louis doesn't know the famous sister Gemma or auntie Julie,  but he silently thanks then for deciding to tag along for the journey home and force this guy to find alternative transport home.

 

~*~

 

He doesn’t think about the fact that every turn of the wheels along the track brings him closer to Doncaster Station. The last hour and a bit has flown by, honestly, and he doesn’t feel ready to leave this be.

_“We are now approaching Doncaster Station. Please ensure you take all belongs with you and take care as you disembark the train.”_

The announcement comes right on cue. With a heavy heart, he wraps the headphone wire around his phone carefully and slips it into his backpack. "This is me."

The curly haired boy nods, an expression tugging on his lips that Louis can't give a name to.

"’Scuse me please?" He asks softly, prompting the boy to dissolve into nervous fits of giggles.

"Sorry!" He clambers to his feet and steps into the gangway, allowing Louis to pass.

He shuffles his bum across the seats; suddenly feeling like time is speeding up. He wills it to slow down. He doesn’t want this moment to end; it feels like it's only just begun.

He finds some sort of pasty crushed into the deep purple carpet to focus on, fiddling with the zip on his rucksack even though he's neither replacing something nor looking for something.

"Hey, uh, I never asked your name?" The boy says suddenly. Louis' head snaps up and a curl has dropped into the boy’s face. He looks mildly terrified but his eyes shone with optimism and Louis wonders to himself whether this is true. Is he real? Is this real life?"

"Oh, uh," He stumbles, feeling like a kid with a crush. Hmmm. "It's Louis."

The boy nods and smiles enthusiastically. His eyes temporarily glaze over as if he is memorising every syllable. "Hi Louis. I'm Harry. "

"It's been a pleasure." He's speaking so softly now combined with racket and clang of the train pulling into the station, he can barely hear himself let alone Harry.

"Excuse me, love!" A lady with a honey-blonde bob is peering over Harry's shoulder, her eyes darting eagerly towards the doors.

"Oh, sorry," Harry mumbles, stepping into the empty row of seats to his right. The lady brushes past Louis towards the doors.

"Right, well..." Louis looks at Harry, then at the doors then back at Harry.  "I guess... it was nice meeting you."

"Thanks for the headphone." Harry says with that lop sided little half grin that Louis had seen decidedly too little of.

"Anytime!"

_"Ladies and gentleman, this is Doncaster Station, repeat Doncaster Station. If you are leaving us here please ensure you have all your belongings with you and have a safe onward journey tonight.  Thank you for travelling with Transpennine Express.”_

"Bye then." Louis gives a small wave and turns towards the doors. It’s only about four steps at the most, but he feels like he's wading through jam. He daren't turn around; he might just combust there and then.

He steps off the heated carriage onto the platform to be greeted by an icy blast. Pulling the discoloured faux fur trim of his denim jacket around him tighter, he looks left down the platform in the direction of the exit signs. Really, he doesn't need guidance. He’s been here on this platform in varying degrees of sobriety and states of undress many a time before.

"Sorry,  'scuse me," He hears a scuffle behind him and rolls his eyes as some impatient bugger who can't just go with the crowd but _has_ to push past like they're so damn important.

"Lou - Louis!" He feels a hand tugging on his backpack.

The throngs of people around him seem to disappear as he turns to see Harry before him, 90% of his curls hidden under a bright orange bobble hat.

"Harry?!" He's stunned and can't help but smile though bewilderment soon kicks in. "This is Donny! You said you were going to Grimsby, get back on train you daft-"

"I just wanted to.... wanted to, uh," He swallows hard and Louis has to drag his eyes up from the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple. "Shit, uh, sorry this is mad. I should run, the trains-"

He doesn't finish his sentence. The automatic doors of all four carriages lined up against the platform simultaneously spring closed again with a hiss and a clunk. With a whistle the train lurches back into life and begins to creep away from them. They both turn to stare as the vehicle gathers speed. Their reflections stare back at them until they are nothing more than blurs.

"Looks like you missed your train." Louis says as they turn back to face each other.  He had seemed like a giant as he'd been stood in the gangway and Louis was sat down. Side by side there was little difference,  and now face to face and mere feet apart, Louis predicts Harry probably has two or three inches on him.

"Yeah." Harry agrees, and for a moment Louis forgets what they're talking about.

"There’s a pub just down the way in the town," Louis motions behind him with his thumb. "Can I get you a drink while we figure out how to get you back on the right track?"

Harry doesn't hesitate. "I love a good pun."

 

~*~

 

They end up in a bar called Spirit. Louis assumes that it is a play on words, considering the type of beverage typically sold in bars.

Despite his boldness, Louis isn’t too familiar with the Doncaster nightlife so treads carefully as they approach the bar.

“What’s your poison?” He asks Harry, who peers at the beer taps with his eyebrows knitting together in concentration. Louis can’t help but smile.

“I don’t know, what do you fancy?” Harry asks, looking at him with wide-eyed innocence.

They start off with beers. The amber liquid glows in the dim light of the place. They settle around a rickety wooden table, setting the drinks down on beer mats. With dangerous flailing limbs, Harry’s pulls off his old hoodie to reveal a dark blue, black and grey checked shirt.

He forgets to speak for  a while as he watches Harry and wonders what it would be like to touch him. Like really touch him.

“How old are you?” Louis asks suddenly, as if it’s just dawned on him.

“Nineteen.” Harry says with an almost nervous smile.  “You?”

“Twenty one.” Louis replies, lifting the glass to his lips.

“Old man!” Harry jokes, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he swerves to avoid Louis’ incoming slap. “Mind, you’ll do yourself an injury!”

“You can go off people, y’know!” Louis cries indignantly, crossing his arms across his body pronouncedly although he can’t help but smile.

“You love me really!” Harry jokes with a wink, and _what_ the hell is happening here?

After their second beer, Harry decides they should do shots, despite Louis' (admittedly feeble) attempts at protest. Harry carries a tray of shots back to their table and sets them down, his concentration face maniacal and quite funny in its intensity.

Their respective first shots are dignified. They clink glasses and toast to the good people at Transpennine Express. The second shot is a bit sloppier, and by the time they down their third – and last – shot, their ever-growing louder giggles draw attention to them but they don’t notice or care.

Harry notices a sign chalked onto the board behind the bar – _‘Tequila Shots 2-4-1’_ and grabs Louis’ forearm with mischief in his eyes.

“No! I’m still dead from last night!” Louis wails as he realises what Harry is implying, but it’s too late. The taller, lankier, younger boy is bounding across to the bar on his crazy Bambi legs, brandishing a tenner.

“Four please!” Louis hears him call, pointing a finger at the sign. Louis’ brain won’t shut up telling him how much he would like to cuddle this strange, perfect boy right about now.

With their messy drinks and paraphernalia across their sticky table, feeling more than buzzed, they both clock on at about the same time, about half way through the lengthy but unmistakable intro that Hotel California is playing. As the soft, reggae lilt picks up and the verse starts, Harry slides out of his seat and begins to sway rhythmically in a semi-circle, bopping his head and waving his arms.

"Nice moves!" Louis’ laugh reaches the creases in his eyes as he covers his face with his hands to quell his fond.

"If only it was Tequila Sunrise." Harry laments as he sinks back into his seat, shaking his empty glass for effect.

"You could put in a special request," Louis jokes, and Harry pulls a horrified face; cue more laughter from Louis.

 

~*~

 

“Shit, what time is it?” Harry suddenly exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. He pats himself down, obviously looking for his phone, but in Louis’ drunken state his mind races ahead. No sooner does he have the device in his hand does it slip from his clutches and disappear under the booth.

“Christ, help me find it, Lou!” He strains from under the table, on his hands and knees crawling about.

Louis is _not_ getting on the floor, thank you very much, so offers to call it for him.

Harry slowly calls out his number for him, getting it wrong twice. _Only 9% battery now_ , he thinks as he waits for the call to connect.

“Got it!” Harry’s muffled voice comes from under the table, followed swiftly by the thud of Harry’s head hitting the underside of the table. “Ow!”

“Alright, _child_?” Louis says with a smirk as Harry reappears. He ends the call and puts his dying phone back in his backpack. “What time is it ‘en?”

“21:26.” Harry says solemnly, his facial expression stony. “What time was that train?”

Louis is sheepishly silent for a moment before answering, “21:28.”

In a moment, they’ve scooped their backpacks up and called out a thank you to the barman; out of the door in a flash. It’s probably a five or six minute walk back to the station, and even as they run Louis knows they won’t get there in time. Harry must soon realise this too, as he folds over himself and sighs heartily.

“It’s no good! We won’t make it in time!” He huffs and puffs, pulling himself back up to his full height with a pained grimace.

“Shit, I'm so sorry! This is entirely my fault! Stupid Louis!” He curses himself, looking up the empty street as if he could magically summon the station closer.

“It’s all right,” Harry says calmly, even though it obviously isn’t.

For a moment they stand in silence, the distant passing of cars and people and their heavy breathing the only sounds that accompany them. Louis toys with an idea in his head, his face twisting and contorting as he mentally weighs up the pros and cons.

“Look, I dunno if this is... weird?” He begins cautiously, Harry’s head snapping up almost hopefully. “But, you could stay with me? With us. Us, I mean my flatmate Stan and his missus. I live with Stan and his girlfriend Aimee.”

“Oh. Isn’t that...” Harry trails off, his mouth warped into a grin.

“Awkward?  Yes.” He subconsciously pulls a face that he doesn't know he's doing but it pulls a hearty chuckle from the very depths of Harry and the sound fills Louis up. "You’d be more than welcome, I'm sure."

"Is there a spare room?"

Ah, foiled again. "Well no, but I'd take the sofa for the night."

Harry makes muffled noises of protest but Louis holds up his hands. "No, no. Honestly, it’s dead comfy actually. Surprisingly."

Harry's mouth contorts and Louis suspects he's chewing the inside of the corner of his mouth. "Only if you don't mind? And your mates won't mind? "

"I don't care if they do." Louis says flippantly, throwing his hands up in the air and pointing to the (horrible) public toilets. "I need a wee first, though."

 

~*~

 

"Stan?" Louis stage whispers as he creeps into the darkened flat. It smells of spicy chicken and Louis pouts indignantly. "Sods had Nando's without me!"

"Swines..." Harry muses, eliciting a giggle from Louis.

"Stanley?” Louis calls again, louder this time. There’s no movement or sudden switching on of lights, so Louis assumes they're out. "They must be out."

"Oh shame. I was looking forward to a four way."

Louis spins around, astounded that _that_ just came out of this innocent, curly haired little cherubs' mouth.

“Harry!" He clutches a hand to his chest in mock shock before barking out a laugh that hurts his throat. "I am scandalised to the core!”

Harry shakes off his rucksack and dumps it on the arm chair next to the TV. He smirks and shrugs and Louis considers pouncing on him right there and then.

Instead, he wanders towards the kitchenette, flicking on a dim light as he goes. With arms flailing about like a windmill, he points out the highlights. "This is my humble abode anyway. The grand tour can begin and end here. Bathroom is the one with the glass panel above the door. Kitchen is obviously here."

He pauses as Harry giggles. Smiling too, he tries to keep his focus. "My room where you'll be is the one opposite. I mean, you'll be there alone, obviously. I'm not insinuating anything!"

"Lou, relax." He says simply and Louis' stomach flips at hearing the nickname again. "Thank you for putting me up. I won't be any bother.”

"The sheets are clean." Louis says, the suggestion of what he's saying burning the very fibre of his being. "Luckily..."

"Thank you for pre-empting this situation so perfectly."

Louis can't really focus on anything else anymore. He’s wishing he hadn't agreed to tequila shots, what was that all about? He had been on a self-inflicted tequila ban and for good reason.

"I'm knackered, to be honest. Mind if I turn in?"

Harry's voice plucks him out of his daydream. There’s softness and a genuineness that he hadn't bargained for.  
"Of course not."

He's barely aware of the last ten minutes, leading Harry to his room, drawing closed the dark grey curtains and mumbling something stupid about if he needs a drink in the night he knows where the tap is.

With the rather musky spare duvet from the top shelf of his walk in wardrobe, he stands in the middle of the living room feeling more lost than he ever has before. His alcohol soaked brain that was so wacky and happy not one hour ago suddenly feels alone and confused and quite frankly very poorly.

The spare duvet doesn't have a cover, and he stifles three sneezes into the crook of his elbow as the dust particles fly off it as he settles it over the sofa.   
He gathers the cushions from the arm chair and bundles them at one end.

With the lights off, the only light comes from the street light directly outside the window. The whole room is drenched in dark tinged with orange. It’s strangely relaxing.

He notices his phone flashing at him on the coffee table and is reminded of his low battery. Actually, he's surprised it hasn't given up the ghost yet. Sliding his finger up the screen, he sees he only has 3% battery. Unsure of his next move, he taps his way to his call logs and stares at the unsaved number at the top of the screen, remembering how he had got Harry’s number and wondering for one arrogant moment whether it had just been a flimsy excuse on Harry’s part to swap numbers.

Having this titbit of personal information at his disposal was doing terrible things to Louis' insides. His finger presses down and the menu springs up: add to contacts, send text message, send picture message, delete. He hovers over the options momentarily before hitting 'send text message'. This is okay. This is non-committal. He hasn't done anything incriminating or embarrassing yet.

The blank screen stares at him judgingly, the flashing cursor ominous as ever. His first six attempts at a message are quickly scrapped; it seems Louis doesn't know what to say, or indeed if he should even say anything at all? He wants to get out of his makeshift bed, head down the hall and into his room, sneak into his bed next to Harry and cuddle. Fall nicely asleep… His head jerks wildly as he fights to stay awake, his thumb hovering over the send button.

 

~*~

 

He wakes up in the morning to sun pouring in through the window; the curtains not drawn. It takes him a few confused moments to figure out what's happened to his face, but when he plants a hand on his forehead, he peels away a yellow Post-It note.

_'Why are you on the sofa? Who is the boy in your bed? Welcome home by the way! S x'_

Groaning loudly, he swings his legs off the sofa to find the floor. He hadn't slept well and the sofa wasn't comfy. His ankles and toes crackle uncomfortably as he settles his feet down on the worn beige carpet. His knees and hips do the same as he hauls himself up, screwing the Post-It into a ball and tossing it across the room. It skids across the unit and bounces off the sugar canister, coming to a stop in the middle of the counter top.

He flicks the kettle on. The ancient old thing whistles and buzzes as it reaches its heated climax. He fills three mugs as he does every morning; pausing with his hand on the handle of a fourth mug, before selecting the best one they have: his Doncaster Rovers one. He chucks a teabag in each mug and makes the one step journey across the kitchen to his right to get the milk from the fridge. He fills just one cup, for himself, and adds a splash of milk. Perhaps slightly too milky, oops.

God, he has a headache. He opens the cupboard above his head in search of paracetamol to no avail.

"Morning." A rough gravelly voice that's both unfamiliar and familiar comes from behind him.

Spinning round, he completely forgets his headache at the sight of an almost naked Harry in his kitchen.

Shit, right, well black boxer shorts barely skim mid-thigh, floppy, messy curls and tattoos, bloody more tattoos than he had ever seen before.

"Oh, god!" Louis throws down his mug, just shy of missing the target entirely. "Hi! Sorry. Did I wake you?  It’s this shitty old kettle, honestly, it's like a rally car when it gets going."

"It's okay," Harry sort of cocks his hip as he shifts from one foot to the other. He stretches his arms high above his head and makes the most inhuman, strangled noise as his bones hiss and stretch. "The sound of a kettle boiling is like crack to me. I can't resist."

Louis can't concentrate. What did he just say? Something about crack? Should he offer this man a hot drink or ask him to kindly leave right away?

"Tea?" Louis decides to go for the first option.

"Please," Harry nods enthusiastically, still scantily clad and damn brazen about it. "Milky, half a sugar please?"

Louis cringes as he turns his back to Harry.

"Make us one Tommo!“ A voice comes from down the hall.

"That’s Stan.“ Louis says, looking over his shoulder with panic, even though it's probably obvious.

"Oh, good morning, sir." Stan’s voice is closer now. Closer, as in, right behind him.

Harry smiles politely and holds out his hand for Stan to shake, seemingly unfazed by his semi-nakedness. "I’m Harry. Thanks for letting me stay."

"Stan." Stan replies, his poker face not revealing the confusion he was no doubt feeling inside. "You're… welcome?"

Stan shakes Harry's hand slowly before moving next to Louis, asking him a million questions with his eyes.  Louis just shakes his head almost undetectably, hoping Stan will get that they will _talk about it later._  

The three of them awkwardly drink their teas, standing in three points around the kitchenette like a triangle. Louis tries not to smile behind his cup as he listens to Harry slurp his tea like a little kid.

It’s Stan that breaks the silence.

“Right, well I’m gonna take this into Aim.” He picks up the fourth tea and nods towards his bedroom. “See you boys later.”

Louis nods as Stan catches his eye as he grabs the mug. He banishes Stan with his eyes, and soon it’s just him and Harry again.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks, screaming at himself internally.

“Yes!” Harry says rapidly. “Your bed is very comfy.”

“That’s good.” Louis says, taking another drink to give himself a distraction. Some breakfast would not go amiss. What he wouldn’t do for one of Aimee’s bacon, sausage and egg rolls right now.

They both open their mouths to speak at the same time. With a giggle, Louis lowers his head. “Sorry, you go.”

“I was just gonna say,” Harry starts with a soft laugh leaving his lips as a puff of air. “Do you have a train timetable or something? I don’t wanna miss another one. My mum’s already going potty worryin’ about me.”

Something about that makes Louis’ heart spin. “Well, I don’t have a timetable but we can look it up online? Be modern?”

“You love teasing me, don't ya?” Harry says through his lop sided grin and Louis has to try his hardest to control himself. “But yeah, if we could do that that’d be great.”

“Of course. Me phones just on charge. I’ll get it.”

Together they pour over the screen and eventually find there is a train stopping at Grimsby, bound for Cleethorpes that Harry can catch. They’ll have to be at the train station for half past three and its getting on for twelve already.

So, while Harry is in the shower, Louis plugs his phone back in to charge and makes another cup of tea in an effort not to think about what's going on in his shower right now.

He perches on the edge of the sofa with his mug, his duvet still strewn haphazardly across the seats. With life in his phone now, he spies a draft message in his inbox to an unsaved number and his stomach lurches.

 _Christ_ , what he has he done?

_'Sleep well, maybe next time we cud sleep together'_

He didn’t send it. Thank God he didn’t send it. Harry would probably have escaped in the night if he had. It takes less than a second to delete the message from existence. He sinks back onto the extra pillowy sofa and closes his eyes, his half drank tea resting on his tummy.

“Wassallthisabout?” Stan hisses in his ear, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

“Jesus Christ!” Louis yelps, narrowly avoiding a slosh of tea to the stomach. “Don’t flippin’ do that, man!”

Stan is crouched down behind the sofa resting his chin on his folded arms. He looks smug. “Now, I wouldn’t say this is a one night stand as you spent the night in separate beds. But… I _am_ confused.”

“There’s nothin’ to be confused about, we met on the train and he kinda, well he missed his stop sorta, and then we went for a drink to pass the time and he missed the last train back to Grimsby-”

“Grimsby?” Stan echoed, looking disgusted.

Louis nods sadly before pressing on. “So I bought him back here, seeing as though it was my fault he missed the train.”

“And was that accidentally-on-purpose, Louis?” Stan asks.

“No, of course it bloody wasn’t.” Louis hits back. _Of course it wasn’t._ “When he’s out the shower we’ll be out of your hair. He’ll be out of your hair.”

Stan is quiet for a few moments and just smirks at him. His eyes dazzle and Louis pretends not to notice. “Shut up, you tit.”

Aimee surfaces about half an hour later; still to meet Harry but obviously fully informed by Stan by this point. She is _not_ a morning person, even less so than Louis, and her long blonde hair is sticking up all over the place, her usual side parting zigzagging across her scalp as she yawns behind her hand. Her fluffy pink dressing gown that’s seen better days trails the floor as all five-foot-one of her stumbles around the kitchen banging cupboard doors and muttering.

“Morning, Aim!” Louis sings from the sofa.

She simply holds up her middle finger, not even looking at him.

“Oh, charming that is!” Louis chortles. “Love you really, Aim. Please don’t spit in me sarnie!”

Harry returns from his shower at that moment, hair darkened by the water and dripping splashes into the shoulders of the same checked shirt he wore yesterday.

Aimee’s eyes follow Harry as he enters the room smiling shyly. “Harry is it?”

“Uh, yeah. Hiya.” He greets her politely, giving her a small wave.

She has the kitchen tongs in one hand the margarine spread in the other, so simply smiles. “Pleasure. Want a barm? I’m doin’ bacon, sausage and egg. All together or individually.”

Harry looks to Louis quickly for reassurance. Louis nods encouragingly, so he turns back to Aimee with a confident smile. “All three sounds lovely.”

 

~*~

 

Any fears Louis might have had that this would be weird are out of the window as Harry and Stan banter back-and-forth then delve into a Serious Conversation about current affairs. Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t zone out a bit at that. He smirks to Aimee who has the same bored look on her face.

With their plates balanced on their knees, Louis sits cross legged on the floor at the coffee table while Stan and Harry occupy the sofa and Aimee the armchair.

As time drags on, it’s getting nearer and nearer to 3pm and Louis decides maybe it is time to get dressed. He excuses himself for a moment, but Harry doesn’t seem concerned.

In the sanctity of his room, he takes a moment to gather himself. He throws himself face first onto his bed that sweet Harry has actually made. That lovely, familiar smell covers the pillow and he inhales deeply, wondering when the hell he became a pillow sniffing idiot.

Hauling himself up, he peers at his reflection in the tiny circular mirror on top of his chest of drawers. He certainly looks like he’s had a sleepless, drunken weekend. That must be why Harry is so distant this morning, because Louis looks like the back end of a bus.

He holds his weary face in his hands, groaning at his sorry image, before running his hands through his hair in an attempt to get it looking less shit. He moisturises, which Stan and more so Aimee have always ribbed him about but right now it makes him feel at least half alive, so he is grateful.

He doesn’t have time for a shower, so re-sprays under each arm and throws on some fresh boxers and black skinny jeans. He heads shirtless across the hall to the bathroom to brush his teeth then back to his room to select a top to wear. He cannot do that in any other order, he is one hundred percent guaranteed to slop toothpaste down his front every time.

Carefully choosing a round neck cobalt blue speckled t-shirt that he _knows_ has got him compliments before, he rolls the ankles up on his jeans (yes, they’re a bit long on him) and the sleeves over on his t-shirt, and heads back into the living room.

“It’s quarter to three,” Stan announces like he’s tolling a funeral bell.  “You guys better head to the station if this poor lad is ever gonna get home, Tommo.”

He sees Harry’s eyes widen with interest at the use of the nickname ‘Tommo’ but he decides in a heartbeat that something should stay a mystery at least.

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s about a twenty minute walk.” He says reluctantly to Harry. Their drunken stumble home the previous night had taken considerably longer than twenty minutes.

“It was lovely to meet you both,” Harry says to Stan and Aimee as he twists himself into his hoodie. “Thank you for letting me turn up unannounced.”

“Of course, it’s been a pleasure.” Stan holds out a hand that Harry dutifully shakes. He shifts on his feet a little behind the brute force of Stan’s handshake. Aimee wiggles her fingers in a wave and tells him it was nice to meet him.

They both give Louis looks as he ushers Harry towards the door, his feet shoved into all-black Converse.

 

~*~

 

To be back at the train station, with Harry still dressed in the same clothes he was before, feels like they’ve done a full circle. The arrivals board above them indicates Harry’s train is due at platform 2 in 4 minutes.

“Just in time!” Harry muses, looking back from the board to Louis.

He nods reluctantly and follows Harry’s lead over to platform 2. It’s blowy despite the pleasant sun that sits high in the sky, conveniently blocked by the roof of the platform. For a moment they stand side by side, neither of them daring to say a word. The platform isn’t so busy this time, only a handful of people surround them as they wait. Louis surveys the faces; no one is bothered, no one is interested. He looks back to Harry and finds his eyes trained on him.

“Y’alright?” He whispers, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable knot in his throat.

Harry just nods, and if his weak smile is supposed to be reassuring then he’s failed. “Thank you for… _this._ It was nice.”

“Anytime.” Louis says softly, as he had done when they were parting ways on the train not 24 hours ago.

They fall back into calm silence, standing close but not quite touching. It’s minuscule at first and Louis almost misses it, but Harry brushes his knuckles against Louis’ hand and coaxes his fingers into his palm. Their fingers lace together and they share a small, comforting smile between them.

A remote chugging noise bursts into their awareness and Harry’s train appears in the far off distance. Harry squeezes Louis’ hand gently in his and the pressure causes Louis to look up.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry says softly, just for him. “I really wanna kiss you.”

Louis fights off the urge to nervously giggle; his go-to reaction for when he wants something so ridiculously much. He hopes his cheeks haven’t reddened too much although his face fills with heat very quickly as he nods.

It’s a simple kiss, soft and fleeting in that it lasts no more than maybe seven seconds. Harry gently tilts Louis’ face up with one hand placed gently on the column of his neck, fingers splayed in his hair and thumb caressing his jaw line. His other hand wraps around the swell of his bum and pulls Louis closer to him.  Harry’s lips are as soft as they look; perfect pink cushions that feel so good against his own. He tastes minty but also like fruity lip balm and its unlike anything Louis has ever experienced before.

They’re forced to pull away as the train grinds to a halt and the doors spring open.

“It’s gone too fast.” Is all Louis can say. He feels like a petulant child, but Harry nods as if he wholeheartedly agrees and that makes Louis feel worse. It takes all his strength not to pout.

“I will text you.” Harry says earnestly.

“I will text you back.”

“Good.” Harry says firmly, his hand reaching out to clutch the material of Louis’ white t-shirt. It all feels very symbolic and Louis can’t help but feel bowled over how fast things have got to this stage. Giving Louis’ abdomen a soft brush of his fingers, Harry lets go and mouths a sad goodbye as he turns and heads for the open doors of carriage B.

The train pulls away much too quickly for Louis’ liking. Soon all he’s left with is the shadow of Harry’s kiss on his lips and the distracting screeching and chatter of the platform dwellers…

 

~*~

 

“Love?”

A voice snaps him out of his reverie. For a few nanoseconds he feels entirely disorientated. His mum’s great auntie Doris comes in to focus; peering up at him expectantly, a sated smile on her heavily lined face.

“Sorry, what?” Louis battles to snap out of his daydream. He looks around the room; busy and bustling, people in their finest suits and dresses, fascinators bobbing around atop posh hairdos and screeching children sliding across the polished dance floor in their socks. “Sorry, I just got… side tracked.”

“I was just asking,” Doris says again, patiently. “Tell me again how you and lovely Harry met?”

The mention of that name sends his eyes swivelling around the room again. He’s there, in the corner, suit jacket undone and glass of Buck’s Fizz in hand, expertly placating two out of three of Lottie's daughters, Belle and Mia.

Harry Styles; his boyfriend of twenty one months, fiancé of ten months, husband of three hours and… forty seven minutes.

“Oh, well, it’s a funny story actually.”

 

_~Fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you enjoyed. Please comment and/or leave Kudos if you did, I'd love to know what you thought!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: @yourpricelessadvice


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